


Treasures

by Isa1187



Category: Gentleman Bastard Sequence - Scott Lynch
Genre: Gen, Pirates, Treasure Hunting, angst at the end, attempts at scott lynch-style swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 18:22:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17048279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isa1187/pseuds/Isa1187
Summary: A merchant has some information about a treasure made of elderglass. How could a pirate captain resist?





	Treasures

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aegistheia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aegistheia/gifts).



The crew of the Poison Orchid was more than accustomed to wealth, but the pile of silks and spices and gold on this ship was enough to make even Zamira Drakasha and Ezri Delmastro smirk like a pirate queen and grin knife-sharp as a cutthroat noble, respectively.

“I’ll be fucked like a broken ship in the Ghostwinds”, Zamira said, staring down at a treasure chest unreasonably full of gold coins in at least three currencies. “What the gods-cursed hell are you, anyway?” 

This was directed to a man who huddled on the deck, glaring daggers around himself, furious as a wet cat despite his torn finery and inauspicious circumstances. 

“Someone you will very much regret attacking,” he said, drawing himself up as tall as anyone kneeling in front of a pirate captain could. 

Ezri gave an exaggerated sigh that wouldn’t sound out of place on stage. “We’re trying so hard to be nice, you know,” she said genially. “Killing your sort of merchant is always so much more trouble than it’s worth.” 

The man tried to hide his flinch as the cabin door slammed open and a sailor strode in, carrying an open chest overflowing with papers. 

“You find something, Orson?” Zamira asked. 

“Understatement of the fucking lifetime,” Orson said. “This pisspot’s got Elderglass stashed away somewhere. Books say he’s planning to retrieve it as a gift for some Camorri gang.” 

“Is that so?” Zamira stated rather than asked. “You think it’s real, not a trick he’s trying to pull on some thieves?”

Ezri leaned down to get a better view of the man’s expression, which was melting comically into abject dismay. “Look at him. It’s true, I’d wager. And what sort of merchant wouldn’t rather jump into a devilfish tank than fuck over Comorri?” 

“Well then,” Zamira said with the sort of finality that the command of a hundred men and the most vicious ship on the sea tended to lend you, “you’ve just become our best catch yet. Congratulations. Now,” she said, rummaging through some papers, “these statements say you’re a Nethros Brestricht, out of Emberlain. That true?” 

Nethros the merchant quivered. “That is my name,” he said stiffly. “But I would not recommend making enemies of Emberlain.” 

“That’s not a problem,” Ezri said with a grin. “We’re a pirate ship. We’re already enemies of everyone. Now, describe everything about this treasure of yours before I pry your ship apart like a particularly obnoxious lobster shell.”

* * * * *

The merchant’s ship drifted slowly away, limping towards land on crippled sails. 

“I’m sure we’re supposed to be the ones with a hidden treasure,” Ezri remarked, leaning languidly against a railing as they sailed for Atilita Cove. “What sort of merchant hides a stash of Elderglass in some Gods-forsaken island in the dogs-fucked Parlor Passage?” 

“The sort who’s too paranoid for his own good,” said Zamira. 

“You know, I’ve read they have some odd customs in the Emberlains.” 

“This treasure better be worth it,” Zamira said. “If we’re going into the Twelve-forsaken Parlor Passage for it.” 

“You saw his reaction when we found his papers,” Ezri said, trying to grin like someone who wasn’t about to venture into the most feared waters of the Ghostwinds. “It must be true. And it must be big.

* * * * *

The directions to Atilita Cover were impeccable, written with the precision used by any sea captain when dealing with a passage that wasn’t only treacherous in the traditional manner but also involved whispering eldritch voices that compelled sailors to leap into the depths. Mumchance lashed the wheel to their heading, Utgar tracked their speed, Ezri kept time. They’d done this, well, not dozens of times, no captain in their right mind went through the Parlor Passage more than they absolutely had to, but every hand knew what to expect. 

Zamira heard intakes of breath all around her as the whispering began. _Zamira_ , the fog murmured. _Zamira Drakasha_. It said nothing more. Whatever lived in the fog, it didn’t need any further words. The ocean surrounded her, and Zamira Drakasha had always known she would live and die on the ocean. She glared at the lanterns at the bow of the Orchid, wrestling her thoughts from the things that swam in the depths and back to the immediacy of her crew. 

“Time,” called Ezri. Zamira nodded. 

“Man the lines! Brace the yards! Prepare to drop anchor!” Her crew knew their business, but a straightforward order had its own comfort in the face of this sort of unknown. 

The ship came to a gentle stop, the shore of an island just illuminated by the outward ring of light. The fog was lighter over the island, but not gone. “I suppose a nice, fog-free port was too much to wish for,” Ezri commented beside her. 

Zamira nodded. “This had better be worth it,” she said to Ezri alone, before turning to address the crew. 

“Here’s the plan,” she said, a slightly raised voice more than enough in the unnatural silence of this place. “We’re not spending a minute longer than we have to in these waters. Ezri and I load down the boat with lights and go ashore, tether ourselves to it so we can find it again in the fog, and take a look at the location on these maps. We’ll be gone three hours at most; longer than that and you should cut and run.” 

The crew were grim around her. A few reluctantly nodded. 

“Not likely to meet anyone out here,” Ezri said, all business, “but we’re setting up a watch. Raise your hand if you feel fit to stay on deck while we’re out.” 

Two dozen hesitant hands raised. Ezri nodded. “Patrol the deck, keep the lanterns burning, watch for anything unexpected. Anyone who feels tempted,” she cast a glance towards the railings of the ship, “go belowdecks.” 

Zamira felt it was time to cheer up the crew a bit. “This is a hell of a thing to ask of you, but if this works out we’ll be the richest gods-damned crew to ever sail the seas. And even if it doesn’t we’ll make for Port Prodigal, ship in for a good week or two, and have Merry Watches all around.” She counted the half-hearted cheer as a victory. 

* * * * *

Silence returned as the boat was stringed with lights and lowered. The glowing lanterns were barely more comforting than darkness, offering tantalizing glimpses of things moving beneath the surface as they rowed to shore. 

Ezri hopped lightly out of the boat, unrolling the map they’d taken from the merchant weeks ago. “We should be nearly at the spot,” she called to Zamira. “Though this fog makes it pissing hard to see anything.” 

“Fog does that,” Zamira said, fishing coils of rope from the boat. “You want this around your wrist, your ankle, or your waist?” 

“I thought you’d never ask,” Ezri chuckled, before raising her arms to clear her waist. “I’ll keep my limbs free for fighting and running.” 

* * * * *

The sandy beach turned into ragged forest soon enough, a good sign according to the map. 

“It should be just feet from here,” Ezri grumbled. “We approached at the right angle, didn’t we?” 

“Hmmm.” Zamira squinted at the map herself. “We should have brought that merchant with us. Perhaps we’ve been hopelessly optimistic. What are the chances we’ll find anything in this fog?”

 _Ezri_. Her eyes widened, staring blindly into the heavy air. “It’s back, Captain.”

 _Drakasha_. “So it is. We knew this was a risk when we landed.” Zamira laid a heavy hand on her first mate’s thin shoulder. “There’s a hollow in that cliff over there,” she said, gesturing with the hilt of a saber. “If I were hiding a treasure, that seems a good spot.” 

“Y-yes. Of course.” Ezri took a breath and squared her shoulders, not bothering to hide how she was regaining her composure here, where only her Captain and the voice in the air could see. The fog roiled at their approach, retreating into a cloudbank that left the hollow free. 

“That’s new.” Ezri breathed out as little as possible, as though disturbing the fog would make it turn on her. Zamira only nodded and leaned forward, reaching toward a long-rusted chest that blended into the reds and browns of the cliff. 

“The lock’s rusted shut. Would you do the honors?” Zamira said, calling Ezri’s attention back from the surrounding fog. 

Ezri started. “How long was I -- nevermind.” She slipped a dagger out of her belt and slammed at the lock with the hilt before slashing at the broken pieces, clearing them away. The chest opened easily enough. 

Elderglass glimmered within, shining with a soft silver light that echoed the glimmer of the fog around them. 

Zamira’s grin could have illuminated even more than the elderglass as she reached into the chest, pulling out an elderglass vest and two sabers, coins scattering on the ground as they came. 

_Zamira. Zamira Drakasha_. Zamira stood up slowly. _Lie down_ , the voice whispered. _Rest. You will die on the sea. The only question is how much pain you’ll suffer first_. The fog crept back in toward her, moving like a creature stalking its prey. 

A slender hand gripped hers, and without any need for words Zamira and Ezri were running through the broken trees. Ezri did her best to coil the rope as they ran, weaving between fallen logs and over broken ground. The light-strewn boat came into sight soon enough, and though fog wreathed around it the voice didn’t follow them past the boundary of the forest. 

The two hopped into the boat and rowed with a will, making the short trip back to the Poison Orchid in record time, determinedly looking away from the things that swam under them. 

* * * * *

_Several years later_

 

“Look lively! Trim the gods-fucked sails! Weigh the anchor! Are you sailors or not?” Zamira’s voice echoed over the deck of the ship. She wrestled her thoughts away from how it sounded so much louder than she knew it should. Her crew scurried around her, diminished though they were. 

Her gaze slid over the decks where bodies were stacked just days ago, already scrubbed clean of blood. She rested her hand on the hilt of an elderglass-studded saber and turned, staring in the direction of Port Prodigal. 

“Here’s the plan,” she shouted, addressing what crew she had left. “We’ve got some repairs to make. And then,” she said, running her fingers over elderglass studs and thinking of her terrified children still huddled belowdecks, “it’s time we reminded some people of who exactly we are.” 

The cheer was ragged, but better than nothing. The Poison Orchid limped toward the Ghostwinds, yells of the crew mixing with the thin wails of the prisoner belowdecks, buoying up a captain driven by pride and anger.

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently you've been asking for Zamira and Ezri fic for literal years now. I hope this was worth the wait! It turns out that Scott Lynch's writing style and characterization is very difficult to imitate, but also very fun to play with.


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